


If Only In My Dreams

by miznarrator (lately)



Category: MASH (TV)
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2009-12-21
Updated: 2009-12-21
Packaged: 2017-10-04 21:17:43
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,253
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/34221
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lately/pseuds/miznarrator
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A week before Christmas, Hawkeye gets word he's going home.</p>
            </blockquote>





	If Only In My Dreams

**Author's Note:**

  * For [ChokolatteJedi](https://archiveofourown.org/users/ChokolatteJedi/gifts).



> Many thanks to D and J for beta work and M for extensive handholding.

"You stand there, Pierce. Radar, give me that—" The Colonel jabbed his finger somewhere near the middle of Hawkeye's chest, attention on the fat stack of paperwork on Radar's clipboard.

"I could tell you what it says," Hawkeye says, as casually as he can manage. It would help if he could get his hands in his pockets, shift his weight to one side, slouch a little. Potter looks up and jabs his finger again and Hawkeye swallows, remains at attention. It feels as surreal as this conversation.

"You could help yourself and keep your trap shut, son. Sending you home was supposed to be the end of my problems, not the beginning. Radar?"

"It starts, um. Here, sir." He flips the pages, letting them catch on the staple in the corner as the colonel readjusts his glasses and takes the clipboard from him. The only light on comes from the desk lamp. It feels a bit like being on stage, on display, caught in the aura of its single-bulb glow.

Hawkeye swallows again and waits for the fan to meet the proverbial.

 

*

 

It went like this.

A scant ten days before Christmas, they were patching up a platoon's worth of wounded. Hawkeye and BJ were the only two operating, Hawkeye himself wrist deep in a guy's chest when a small commotion outside the OR caught his attention.

"Is that Radar and Klinger?"

"They seem to be having a waltz. Or a shoving contest."

Hawkeye looked down at the lung in front of him, then back up at BJ. "As long as they don't waltz near my patient, I'll consider them for my next dance instructors."

"Go through a lot of them?"

"Step on them often enough, and eventually they forsake you."

"Good thing I have natural rhythm, in that case."

It wasn't them at their most interesting or witty, and the surgery wasn't the most pressured or complicated. There was nothing in particular about that morning's work that signalled what was to come next.

He'd forgotten almost entirely about the incident by the time he was taking off his surgical gown, which was precisely when Radar burst in, piece of paper held aloft.

"Sir, Hawkeye, sir, you won't believe it, you're going home!"

Ready for a nap, he went from drowsy to all systems on red alert in the space between one blink and the next.

_"What?_"

"It says so right here, sir. Hawkeye, Pierce, Captain BF, look."

"Gimme that," he said, nearly vaulting over one of the laundry bags to snatch at the paper. The paper trembled in his hand as he tried to focus, eyes catching on the name, the rank and the date.

"Going home, Hawk?" BJ leaned over the laundry, wiping at his hands with a towel.

"Yeah," he replied, a little absently, overwhelmed. "Flight out of Tokyo on the 20th, so, that'll be the 21st, maybe the 22nd in California with the paperwork, back in Crabapple Cove on the 23rd…"

He looked up, disbelieving grin growing as he threw his arms wide.. "Iiiiiiii'll be hoooooooome for Chriiiiiiiiisssssstmaaaaaaaaaas…"

 

*

 

The party was the biggest anyone could remember. Klinger, once he'd stopped trying to steal the piece of officialdom and change the name to his own, showed up in his best ball gown. Even Frank decided to come, though he spent most of the night propping up the jukebox and getting drunker than the man at the center of the officer's club. Fresh from making a tree of rubber tubing and IV stands outside the hospital, the nurses were leading the conga line.

"What's he so gloomy about, I thought he'd be glad to get rid of me."

"He's just jealous he can't go back to charging people for his inability to practice medicine."

"Tell me—no, promise me—promise me, Beej, you'll tie his bootlaces together for me."

"Once a week."

"And twice on Sundays." Hawkeye leaned more heavily on the bar and raised his glass. It looked like he was holding two, but prior experience meant he was fairly certain he could trust his fingers more than his eyes.

"I'll drink to that." BJ's glass clinked against Hawkeye's, the sound ringing out only once. One glass.

"You're the best friend a guy could have." He sounded faux-sincere, the way he does when he's being absolutely honest.

"I'll miss you too, Hawk." He slung one arm over Hawkeye's shoulder and pulled him in for half a hug. Hawkeye let himself lean into it, closing his eyes for a moment as the room spun.

"It's a bit early," he mumbled, mouth pressed to BJ's collar. The cotton tasted like salt and iron and smelt like Korea. "But we should have a singalong."

"What do you want to sing?"

"For Auld Lang Syne, my dear..." he started, soft and distinct. His mouth liked the syllables, smooth and rounded around his teeth.

"Like we'd ever forget you, Hawkeye. Even if we wanted to—"

Something crashed on the other side of the room but Hawkeye didn't bother opening his eyes. It was nice and peaceful, leaning against the bar and BJ. The glass in his hand slipped a little and he held on a little tighter. In the dark behind his eyelids, small starbursts were going off and he smiled to himself as he heard another crash and the sound of Margaret screeching.

"I could try to get to Mill Valley for you, Beej. Deliver a letter, a kiss, whatever you like."

BJ didn't answer immediately, and Hawkeye opened his eyes briefly, letting them fall shut again when it was too much effort. He nudged his elbow against BJ's ribs instead of trying to look at him.

"Sure," BJ replied finally, his voice a little tight and strange. Hawkeye squeezed BJ's hip and leaned a bit more heavily against him. There wasn't much more he could do.

From the other side of the room, Margaret's shrieking diminished just as the Colonel's voice rose above the hubbub. "Everyone—before we get Father Mulcahy to play us some Christmas tunes... for he's a jolly good fellow, for he's a jolly good fellow..."

That was worth opening his eyes for, so Hawkeye smiled and did.

 

*

"They really should've caught the mistake at Kimpo, Radar." Potter's looking up for an explanation, and Hawkeye watches as Radar shrugs.

"I know, sir, but I guess—"

"It wasn't his fault, Colonel," Hawkeye interjects wearily.

"I didn't say it was, Pierce." The light shines across half his face, the other in deep shadow. It's more than enough illumination to see the serious frown creasing the colonel's face. Hawkeye glances away, towards the window, at the snow falling outside. It might just be a white Christmas.

 

*

 

"I know it's not the same, Hawkeye, but I still wanna do it. It's not Christmas without me getting something for my mom and uncle Ed. And if I send it now, maybe they'll get it for Easter time or somethin'."

"Sure," Hawkeye replied distractedly. They were squashed up next to each other, the seat belt of the plane digging into his hips. "You know, I haven't been in a plane for six months, Radar. Six months!"

"And this time you're going home, sir."

"Stop calling me sir," he said, turning away from the view out the window. The propellers wouldn't start turning any faster if he watched. "I need to get used to civilian life again."

"Sorry," Radar said automatically, but he smiled just a little. "Hawkeye."

Hawkeye grinned back at him. "That's better. Did you check the forecast for Tokyo? I don't want to end up stuck in Japan on Christmas."

"Clear for the next couple days, sir—Hawkeye. You shouldn't have any problems getting up in the air and down again. I even checked the forecast for Hawaii and Los Angeles."

"Clear?" The excitement was right under his skin, an itch that went deeper than a reaction against the industrial soap that's stiffened his shirt to a cardboard consistency. He resisted the urge to fidget.

Radar smiled wide, like he caught Hawkeye's enthusiasm. "No storms or nothing bad forecast for as long as forecasts are forecasted to tell you the weather."

"You'll be able to get back to the 4077th in time for Christmas, then." Hawkeye tried to imagine Radar spending the 25th at some geisha's mercy. He shook his head to try to dislodge the image.

"Oh yeah for sure, sir—Hawkeye."

"I don't get it," he said with a smirk. "You had no trouble with my name before."

"Yeah, I dunno," Radar said, scratching at his hairline, pushing his cap even further back on his head. "I guess it's just because it's all different now."

He felt his smile fade, and turned towards the view out of the window. When they took off from this airport, he would no longer be in Korea. In all likelihood, he would never be back. It was the oddest thought.

"Yeah," he said, and he sounded a lot less euphoric than he was a moment ago.

 

*

 

"Are you going to be alright, Hawkeye?"

He looked at the door to the HQ then back at Radar. The sun was bright and he squinted as much as Radar. He tugged at the brim of his hat, until it offered a little more shade.

"I just go in there and get my pay and then they send me a jeep and I go to the airport and wait for my plane. I'm pretty sure I can handle it, Radar." The truth is, he was itching to get in there, get his money and find that plane. As long as there was a plane, he could believe that this was actually happening.

"That's right, sir. Hawkeye."

"Well." He turned to look at the door he has to go through, then back at Radar. "Well, I guess this is goodbye."

He held out his hand for Radar to shake. Radar looked at it, then up at his face. He was still squinting, but there was something shiny about the exposed part of his right eye. Hawkeye left his hand there until Radar grasped it, holding on tighter than he really needed to.

"I guess it is. Will you—you're gonna write to us, right?"

"Oh sure. How else are you going to hear all about the goings on in Crabapple Cove?" He grinned, the joviality obviously forced, but just what Radar needed in order to be able to walk away, dignity intact.

"Sure," he said in response, and Hawkeye regretted the grin.

"Hey," he said, stepping forward to punch Radar gently in the shoulder. "Merry Christmas."

"You too, sir," Radar replied, but his voice is even tighter this time and before Hawkeye could stop him, he stepped back and saluted, wheeling away halfway through Hawkeye getting his hand up in response. He kept the salute and his gaze on Radar as he walks away, only dropping his hand and turning himself when Radar rounded a corner, disappearing from view.

"Right," he said to himself and pushed into the building.

 

*

 

"So you went off on leave, Radar?"

"No, sir. I didn't even get off the base before I heard about what Hawkeye did."

"And what did he do-- never mind, let me keep reading."

"You don't have to keep reading sir, I can tell you that I heard the same thing that's on the paper that you're reading."

They both look at him and even though it's been fully fifteen minutes he's been standing here, spine erect, his thumbs tucked down the seams of his trousers, heels together, Hawkeye tries to straighten a little further. Unfortunately there's nothing more he can do, no more rigid his body can get.

"Alright, Radar," Potter says, eyes still on Hawkeye. Even though he's not looking, he can feel the blue stare. "Why don't you tell me what happened."

"Sir, they gave Hawkeye the other Captain Pierce's pay."

"So, the SNAFU was at their end."

"Yessir. They told two different Captains Pierce that they were going home only they didn't mean to tell our Captain Pierce, but someone got the wrong form or triplicated the duplicate—"

"Thank you, Radar, that's enough. So, you took his pay."

Finally, something addressed to him. Too bad it's the thing that may get him locked up for a very long time in a military prison. He swallows and wishes futilely for the contents of the still in his former tent.

"To be perfectly fair, Colonel, I didn't at the time realize that it was not my pay. So I didn't take anything under any dubious circumstances--" He runs out of breath, pausing briefly to take in more air before continuing. "...as the military might consider considering them."

"Can the doublespeak, Pierce. You took someone else's pay."

He raises his shoulders a little when he sighs, dropping them nearly out of a military posture. "Yeah, I guess you could say that."

Potter glares at him, then looks down at the clipboard before he looks back at Radar.

"Then what happened?"

 

*

 

It wasn't until he was in the officer's mess that the other shoe dropped. Or the penny, if you prefer. It rolled out of his hand as he pulled his change out of his pocket, across the bar to tap against the glass of a man sitting a few chairs further down.

"…and then they try to tell me there's some kind of mistake. Bunch of stupid broads in that office, lemme tell ya."

The bartender grunted at him and Hawkeye watched his penny tip off the bar. He followed it with his eyes, down to the floor, to the top of the duffle bag next to the chair. It had the officer's name written on it in big black letters: PEARCE.

"I'm sorry," he said, before he could think better of it. "I couldn't help but overhear—"

"Yeah?" The tone was belligerent, and as Hawkeye blinked and tried not to recoil, the man turned enough to show off his ample belly, bloodshot nose, and enormous shoulders, unfriendly expression at the ready. "What?"

"You were having some trouble with your pay?" It was as much as he'd overheard, and though he now wished he hadn't started this conversation, he was fascinated in a horrified sort of way.

"Yeah, you having trouble too? Couldn't find me on their stupid lists, said I'd already been in to get it. Made me look at the signature, too. Like it was mine."

"Huh," Hawkeye said, glancing back down at where his penny gleamed on the top of the duffle. "You on your way home?"

"You bet," he said, grinning. It was a scary enough sight Hawkeye almost flinched. He covered it by moving on his seat, picking up his drink. "Me too," he replied. "Home for Christmas."

That made Pearce scowl again, and he grabbed his beer off the bar with a swipe and a glare at the bar staff. "Yeah, home for Christmas but the dumb broads have screwed up my pay and this bar's run by a bunch of gooks."

"You'll be home soon enough," Hawkeye said as mildly as he could manage, trying to ignore the rising dread crawling up his spine.

"Hmph," the man shrugged at the end of the bar. "We'll see. What did you say your name was?"

"Oh, Captain John McIntyre," he lied quickly, holding his hand out. He could wash it after, in the restrooms. "Until I get stateside, anyway. Then it'll be back to Doctor."

"Captain Brian Pearce," he replied, grabbing Hawkeye's hand and squeezing it so quick and tight it turned white, all the blood caught in the fingertips and at the wrist. "Nice to meetcha, doc."

It worked to distract him momentarily from the sinking sensation that had migrated all the way down to his knees. "Good thing I'm already sitting down," he muttered to himself, just below the ambient noise of the bar.

"What?"

"Nothing, sorry. So, what happened with your pay?"

"What? Oh, just like I said. Got there, said I'd already signed for it. Showed me some scribble that was nothing like my signature, said they couldn't give me my pay twice, so now I gotta wait till I get back stateside while they work out their own SNAFU."

"Ah. Well—"

"And," Pearce interrupted, wagging his finger at large, towards the bar staff and then at Hawkeye. "I had a hot date at Madame Haha's place. Three broads and yours truly for three hours. Only now I don't have the cash, do I?"

He snorted as Hawkeye's stomach turned over. He shook his head as he slid his hand down to his pocket, to feel for the folded square of twenties lodged there.

"Shame. Well, it's about time I checked in at the gents."

"Sure, Doc. I'll see you on the plane."

"Oh yeah, sure," he managed, trying to picture him arriving to try to take the other Pearce's seat. The only image he got had him flattened. "See ya."

He made it to the sink in the restroom before he threw up, but only just.

 

*

 

"Fine, but I don't see how—"

"I wrote it up for you, sir, in case of Hawkeye, I mean Captain Pierce, getting caught and stuff. I thought you should know what the—"

"The poop, right, fine. You didn't write all that—" Potter taps the report in front of him, two quick raps.

"Nossir. You wouldn't want an official record of a thing what never happened I figured, sir." Hawkeye glances over as Radar pushes up his glasses and tries not to shiver. Whoever's in the outer office has the other door propped open and the draft's licking up the backs of his calves.

"Right. So how did you find all this out?"

"Well, sir, Captain Pearce—that is, the other Captain, the one that isn't in the army no more, or at least not in the Korean part of the army—he's one of the motor pool captains. And everybody was pretty glad to see the back of him, I guess, so when it looked like he was having trouble getting out, there was a lot of interest if you know what I mean, sir."

"Scuttlebutt?"

"Scuttled all over, sir, right to where I was resting and recreating, so I listened. Got there before the General could call the MPs." Out of the corner of his eye, he can see Radar's smile, proud. The spot in his chest where relief should be is too cold and dead for anything, though he's managed a simulacrum of gratitude, not grabbing the wheel to steer the jeep off the road as Radar drove them back to the 4077th.

"Alright, let's cut to the chase. What did you do with the other man's pay, Pierce."

"I reallocated it to better resources than it would have otherwise been used to procure, sir." He resists the urge to clear his throat, even though it all feels unbearably tight. He doesn't look anywhere but straight ahead, staring blindly at the wall of horses in front of him. The sense of grim satisfaction at taking the money away from the other Pierce is long gone.

"Radar," Potter says quietly. "What did he do?"

"Uh, it means, sir, that he took the money and bought dinner for all the ladies at, uh. Madame Haha's. And um. Made a donation in the name of the US government for the Hiroshima Peace Memorial Museum."

The silence is profound enough Hawkeye's pretty certain he can hear Margaret and BJ breathing just the other side of the door. He closes his eyes, a long blink that brings the horses into focus on the wall for a moment.

"Pierce, you know that embezzling the government could get you court martialed."

"Yes sir," he says carefully. His voice has all but dried up. The silence swells again, as loud as his heartbeat, his breath. Caring about the outcome of this meeting comes and goes in waves. Right now, he doesn't care about the possible prison sentence.

Radar and the Colonel start speaking at the same time.

"—I got the form right here, and I made sure—"

"--Radar, we can make this go away—"

"—General Hammond's signature's easy, sir—"

"—I'll give him a call and mention that time with Mrs Hammond, right. Okay."

Hawkeye barely hears it. Somewhere, miles and miles and a dateline away, his father's buying a turkey. Or has bought a turkey. There's a tree and decorations, and he's in a snowstorm in Korea. He blinks again and swallows. It's wetter this time, his tongue unsticking from the roof of his mouth.

"Can I ease myself now, sir?"

"Yeah, sure, son," Potter says, sounding as tired as he should, the day before Christmas in the middle of the night.

"Thank you sir." He hangs onto the formality even as he takes his cap off, tucking it into the crook of his arm, his feet a regulation shoulder width apart. Just for a moment, Frank Burns's love of regulation and officialdom makes sense.

"Oh, just sit down, Hawkeye, you're making me nervous. This isn't actually a court martial, you know."

"Yessir." He sits on the chair behind himself just as the doors open behind him and BJ leads what sounds like the whole camp into the office.

"If you're quite done with the official business, Colonel—" BJ says from above him. He wants to turn, lean against BJ, somehow erase the memory of the last week from his mind. He stays still, however, and waits for the permission.

"Not quite yet, Hunnicut,"

"This man looks like he's dead on his ass, Colonel. Surely this can wait for the morning."

"Two more minutes, BJ, and you can take this man back to his own bed."

"Didn't replace me, then?" He sounds a little more like himself, even if he doesn't quite feel it. It's a start.

"Didn't have the chance. Surgeons are in short supply, especially when the army didn't mean to send you away, son."

"Your cot is right where you left it, Hawk. On the other side of the best still in these mountains." BJ's as mild as ever, and Hawkeye finds himself caught between soothed and wanting to punch something, the window, the filing cabinet, Potter, Radar.

BJ.

Himself.

"Thanks," he manages finally. "It's nice to be appreciated."

"You'll get to go home, son. They just haven't printed your ticket yet."

"What are the plans for Christmas?" He has vague recollections of last year— Trapper and the still, two nurses and a Santa costume. And then a lot of nudity. It was almost fun, then.

Novel, at least.

"That's what I want to talk to you about. The rest of you, scram. You can have your chief surgeon in a minute."

It only takes a moment before the office is empty. They're probably all listening just the other side of the door again, but Hawkeye is too tired and worn out to care. Across from him, the colonel leans forward, pulling his glasses off and resting his elbows on the desk.

"Hawkeye..."

He lets himself slump this time, dress uniform creased beyond formality already, tipping his face into his palms and closing his eyes.

"Yes, sir," he says, when the silence means he has to reply or look up. He doesn't want to look.

"I know right now this seems like the worst thing that could happen to you, and I'm sorry it did. The army can be cruel, sometimes. But you have people here who care a great deal for you."

It's hard to swallow around the lump in his throat so he gives up on trying to speak, settling instead for nodding. His fingertips are wet.

"But you know, you have people here that care a great deal for you. It's not Crabapple Cove and it isn't your blood relations, but—" He pauses and Hawkeye swallows again, just in case he has to try to say something now. The colonel just continues, however, quieter this time. "A lot of these people see you as family, and I don't think I'd be way off base if I said I think you see some of them that way too."

He has to look up at that, careful to wipe at his eyes before he moves his hands. He clears his throat and blinks, taking in the way Potter's eyes are red, the slight tremble as he taps two fingers on the report Radar's left behind.

"I'm not going to be court martialed, then?"

"I'd sooner court martial my own granddaughter, Pierce, but if you don't let the camp welcome you back for Christmas, I'll—"

"Message received," he says, as soon as he can make his voice work. "Loud and clear."

"It's good to have you back, son."

"Yeah. Call off the war and I'll visit you every chance I get." Something in his chest is easing, and he can almost manage a smile.

"Get out of my office, Pierce, and get some sleep. Someone has to play Santa tomorrow and it sure as hell won't be me." He pushes away from his desk with a harrumph that means he was intending to do just that. The smile on Hawkeye's face loosens, eases into something more natural.

"You make a great Santa, Colonel," he says, propping one boot up on the edge of the desk. Potter knocks it off on the way past and Hawkeye almost laughs.

When he makes eye contact this time, his smile doesn't fade.


End file.
